


Christmas at Columbia

by PennyLane



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyLane/pseuds/PennyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Venkman doesn't celebrate Christmas. To him, it's just another day. Until this particular Christmas at Columbia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas at Columbia

 

"Don't you just love Christmas?"

Egon Spengler smiled at the enthusiasm in the underclassman's voice. Ray Stantz' cheeks were a healthy red in the crisp winter air and his brown eyes were sparkling as they walked across the nearly-deserted ColumbiaUniversity campus. It was Christmas Eve morning, and they had been at the library doing some last-minute research on their individual papers before everything closed down for the holiday. The usual bustling campus was nearly empty as most of the students and faculty had already left to spend Christmas with family or friends.

"I've always enjoyed Christmas," Egon agreed, hunching his shoulders inside his jacket. He did not, however, enjoy the cold and wet that usually went with it.

The third member of the trio, Peter Venkman, apparently decided to treat the question as rhetorical and didn't answer. Spengler's face creased in a thoughtful frown as he surreptitiously studied the brown-haired man who was sauntering along beside them, his hands in his jacket pockets. The normal jauntiness was missing from the younger man's step and he had been unusually quiet and preoccupied all morning. Although he had known the psych major for well over a year now, Egon still found it sometimes difficult to penetrate that invisible wall Venkman could erect around himself at any moment to keep people from getting too close. Peter Venkman was popular, outgoing, personable, surprisingly intelligent and possessed a quick and sharp wit, but he was extraordinarily reticent when it came to opening up his life to someone else. Egon had been pleased to see the gradual, but steady, lowering of those defenses in his company as they had gotten to know one another. It had taken patience to get this far with him, but Egon was a patient man; and besides, something about Peter Venkman told him the effort would be worth it. The truth be known, he could admit to himself he wasn't the easiest man to get to know either, and it had gratified him that Peter was also making the effort.

"So, when are you going to your aunt's, Ray?"

Stantz turned a bright smile on Venkman. "I'm going with her and my cousin to Christmas Eve services tonight, and then she wants me to stay with them for a couple of days. She decorates the house with a lot of really neat stuff brought over from Russia and always fixes this big traditional Christmas Day dinner." He hesitated, then continued hopefully, "There's plenty, Peter. I told Aunt Lois all about you, and she'd really like to meet you. It'd be fun," he continued, his eagerness finally spilling over. "You could spend Christmas Day with us and--"

"I'm not real big on Christmas, Ray," Peter interrupted, skirting around a patch of ice on the sidewalk. "But thanks anyhow," he added quickly, adding a crooked smile to take any unintentional sting out of his words. "Maybe I could take a raincheck on that home-cooked meal."

The auburn-haired man looked disappointed, but agreed instantly, "Sure thing. She really wants to meet you--and you, too, Egon," he added, turning to include Spengler. "She's really glad I've made some friends here."

"Why wouldn't you make friends here?" Venkman asked, playfully cuffing the younger man on the arm.

Ray shrugged. "I didn't have too many friends where I came from," he answered with disarming honesty. "And I wasn't sure I would fit in here."

"Nonsense, Raymond," Egon said immediately. "Of course you fit in here." He had known Ray longer than Peter had--in fact, he had introduced the two of them--and he had discovered early on that while Ray was naturally ebullient and possessed a sharp intelligence, he was somewhat shy around strangers and unsure of his acceptance. One of the reasons he had brought the two underclassmen together was the hope that Peter, in whom he had discovered a generous and good heart, might pay some attention to Ray and spend some time with the younger man. Being seen in Peter Venkman's company on campus would go a long way toward opening some doors for Stantz among his peers. It had been very satisfying for him to see Peter's interest in Ray develop into a comfortable camaraderie…and a little annoying to see Ray's admiration of Peter turn into something just short of hero worship. But to Venkman's credit, Egon had never seen him abuse that status. If anything, Ray's open admiration for the upperclassman seemed to have softened Peter somewhat--although Egon had surmised long ago that Peter's quick tongue and irreverent attitude was a cover-up for a side of himself that for some reason he didn't want to reveal to others.

His green eyes sparkling with sudden mischief, Peter leaned over to Ray and whispered loudly, "If Egon can fit in here, then take it from me, Ray, _anybody_ can fit in."

"Oh, is that so, Venkman?" Egon murmured, and smoothly reached out to snag a handful of fresh snow from the top of the low brick wall they were passing. Before the psych major knew what was happening, he had a faceful of snow.

"Snowball fight!" Ray cried happily while Peter spluttered and wiped the snow off his face. "Come on, Peter, he's armed again!"

"Armed?" The brown-haired man ducked just in time to avoid the second snowball lobbed by Egon and came up, green eyes glinting. "I'll show you 'armed', Spengler," he vowed, and scooped up a chunk of snow, expertly fashioning it into a lethal weapon. He never had the chance to throw it, however, because another glob of wet, cold snow landed on the back of his neck. "Gah!" Spinning around, he found a gleefully grinning Ray Stantz.

"Get with it, Peter!" the auburn-haired man urged. "You're losing!"

" _Losing_? Well, lose _this_ , Stantz!" With all the skill of the collegiate scrambling quarterback he was, Peter Venkman nimbly ducked the next missile tossed by Egon and used his much-admired arm to hurl a snowball as straight and sure as any long pass he had ever thrown. He crowed in triumph as it hit the auburn-haired man squarely in the chest. He had no time to do a victory dance in the endzone, however, because Egon Spengler was once again on the attack.

 

Fifteen minutes later, all three dropped onto a snow-frosted bench, laughing so hard they could barely catch their breath. Peter and Ray were leaning weakly against each other, giggling like schoolboys. His own grin all but frozen in place, Egon dug a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his droplet-covered glasses. He had been at a distinct disadvantage with his blurred lenses--Peter had discovered that weakness early on--but from the way the other two looked, he had given as good as he got.

Ray's cheeks were flushed red with exertion and his eyes shining, the front of his brown coat white from all the 'hits' he had sustained. Peter's cheeks were no less red, a compliment to his fair skin and dark hair; but his hair, a source of such pride and much care, hung in heavy, wet strands, the result of Egon's deadly accurate lobs. As Spengler watched, the younger man grimaced and raised a hand to push a wet lock out of his eyes.

Shaking his head in astonishment at himself, Egon replaced his glasses on his nose. Even as a boy, he had never participated in a snowball battle before. Now, he had _started_ one. What was it about these two underclassmen that did that to him? He gazed at his two friends, who were still panting with laughter, and smiled to himself. Whatever it was, he decided he liked it.

Later, when they had recovered enough to complete their short journey, they came to a halt in front of Peter's fraternity house where Egon had parked his car. He was going to drive Ray back to his dorm, then head to the airport to catch his flight to Ohio.

His hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, Peter turned to the other two and jerked his head toward the frat house. "So, you two want to come in for a while, dry off, get something hot to drink?" Then, before they could answer, he added off-handedly, "I mean, if you have time."

Ray's eyes flew to Egon's face. "We have time, don't we, Egon? Just for a few minutes?"

Spengler patted the younger man on the shoulder, his eyes on Peter. "Of course we have time," he said immediately, pleased at the smile that flashed across Venkman's face. He smiled, too, congratulating himself for having the foresight to stow his packed bags in the trunk of the car. He was no more anxious than Ray to drive off and leave Peter alone for Christmas. "And, Peter, I'd very much like to read that paper you wrote on the after-effects of near-death experiences. As you know, it touches somewhat on some of my own interests, and I found some of your comments fascinating. Would you mind?"

From the way Venkman's face lit up, it was obvious he didn't mind at all. "A little light reading over the holidays, Spengs?" he teased, and led the way up the steps to the frat house.

Egon had been to the fraternity house any number of times to pick Peter up or drop him off, and it had always been filled with frat brothers, co-eds, loud talk and even louder music. That was one of the reasons Peter had begun studying over at his apartment. But now the house was silent and empty, and their footfalls echoed hollowly as they tramped into the large room that served as the social area downstairs.

"Take your coats off, guys," Peter invited, and tossed his own soaked jacket over the back of a chair where it promptly slid off and landed in a soggy heap on the floor. "What'll it be? Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?" He waggled an eyebrow at Ray. "Beer?"

Stantz wrinkled his nose. "Cocoa is fine, Peter."

"Egon?"

"Cocoa," Egon agreed, then grimaced as he remembered the last time Venkman had made him cocoa. "Unless it's the kind made with _water_ ," he added sternly.

Venkman considered him under from under raised brows. "What do you think _coffee's_ made from, professor?" Without giving Spengler time to reply, Venkman grinned and disappeared into the kitchen.

Egon automatically walked over to Peter's fallen jacket and replaced it on the chair back, looking around the large room. There was a tiny aluminum Christmas tree sitting forlornly on a small table in one corner, the sole holiday decoration in the room. He wasn't sure whether someone had actually tried to inject some Christmas spirit into the place or whether it was supposed to be some sort of joke. It was sparsely decorated with cheap plastic ornaments, and someone had wrapped a chain of paper clips around it. Most of the tinsel was underneath the tree--blown off when the door was opened probably--and Ray was industriously replacing every strand.

Finished, he turned and gave Egon a doubtful look. "I don't think anyone else is here."

Spengler nodded. Peter had told him he was going to have the whole place to himself over the holidays. Peter, of course, had made it sound like something he was looking forward to. "Everyone else has left for Christmas."

The younger man walked over to him, keeping his voice low so their friend wouldn't overhear in the kitchen. "He shouldn't have to be alone on Christmas, Egon."

Privately, Egon agreed, but since Venkman had turned down invitations from both of them, he didn't know what they could do about it.

Stantz' eyes lit suddenly with new hope. "Do you think if I asked him again--"

Spengler immediately shook his head. He knew Peter well enough by now to understand that, whatever his reasons, Venkman meant what he said when he declined their invitations. But, more than that, Egon didn't want Ray to make the mistake of pushing Peter too hard, no matter how good his intentions. He knew of no quicker way to make Peter back off, and he didn't want to see that happen. "No, Raymond, that wouldn't be a good idea."

"But--"

"Ray." Spengler cut him off kindly, but firmly. "We can't force Peter to spend Christmas with us." _Any more than we can force him to acknowledge the holiday_ , he added silently, wondering what it was in Peter's past that had turned him so against Christmas.

"He keeps saying Christmas is just another day," Ray said quietly, his eyes on the kitchen door. "But it's not. It's a day to be spent with your family--or friends. Not alone." He had a sudden thought. "Do you think his father--"

"Peter hasn't mentioned his father, and I'm sure if Mr. Venkman had made arrangements to visit over Christmas, Peter would have told us." He would have been shouting the news from the roof of Weaver Hall. Egon had met Peter's father only once, but he hadn't come away with a very good feeling about the elder Venkman. Charlie Venkman seemed to talk a great deal about a lot of things, but Egon found little substance in anything he said. When he talked about Peter, though, he fairly burst with pride, and Peter positively glowed in his dad's presence. Egon wasn't sure what the man's line of work was, but he seemed to be on the road a great deal. It was too bad, Egon thought with more than a touch of irritation, he couldn't have arranged to be in New York for the holidays to be with his only son.

"And his mom's on that cruise."

Egon nodded absently, his thoughts shifting to Margaret Venkman. Peter's mother had visited her son several times while she lived in New York and Egon had liked her immensely, seeing where Peter had gotten his streak of practicality and core of compassion--both of which he usually went to great pains to hide under an exterior of blithe frivolity. Margaret Venkman was also a woman of incredible insight where her son was concerned and had recognized immediately the relationship that was forming between her son and the physics major, and realizing what that friendship could mean to Peter. On her last visit, she had pulled Egon aside and told him how glad she was the two of them had become friends. "He needs someone like you in his life, Egon. He needs someone he can count on to be there if he needs a friend. You're good for him." Her gray eyes twinkling, she had added with a knowing smile, "And I think he's been good for you, too." She had remarried last month and moved to the Midwest to live with her new husband and they were off now on a combination honeymoon-Christmas cruise in the Bahamas.

"Here we go, coffee for Egon--extra sugar, no cream--and cocoa for Ray, with lots of little marshmallows."

Ray grinned in delight as he accepted his cocoa with the thick layer of frothy half-melted marshmallows on top, and as Egon took his coffee he noted Peter had opted for coffee, too, although he was eyeing the cocoa wistfully. Spengler smiled to himself as he sampled the hot liquid; Peter was always participating in some sport or other, depending on the season, and seemed to be perpetually 'in training.' But while Egon had seen him virtuously pass up desserts and french fries in the name of basketball or football, he had also seen the psychology major put away enough beer at one of his frat parties to put most students under the table. Apparently alcohol didn't fit into the category of junk food according to Venkman's definition.

They sat in the spacious, sparse room for some time, quietly passing the time with conversation and laughing at Peter's jokes. Then Egon glanced at his watch and regretfully announced they had to depart if he was going to leave himself enough time to comfortably get to the airport.

"Can't have you missing your flight," Peter retorted brightly, but Egon saw a flicker of disappointment in his green eyes before the younger man jumped to his feet and collected the empty cups.

At the door, Ray hesitated and turned back to Peter. "If you change your mind, Peter--"

"You know, Ray, you're really making too big a deal out of this," Venkman interrupted with the first sign of an edge to his voice. "Christmas is just like any other day to me, just one day out of 365."

Stantz looked at him a long moment, as if trying to judge the truth of that statement, then touched Peter's arm. "Merry Christmas, Peter."

A small, rueful smile touched Venkman's lips and his shoulders lost their defensive stiffness. "Yeah, you too, Ray."

Gazing over his glasses at the brown-haired man, Egon gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. "I'll see you when I get back, Peter. Merry Christmas."

The smile Peter flashed was just a little too bright not to be forced. "Right back at ya, Spengs."

Ray looked like he wanted to say something, but Egon noted Peter's tone and the glint of near desperation in his eyes and quickly herded the younger man out the door. Whatever Peter's reasons for rejecting Christmas, they weren't going to be able to do anything about it now. But they had twelve months before the holiday rolled around again and he made himself a promise that next year he would not be leaving Peter to spend Christmas alone.

 

Peter slowly closed the door on his two friends and turned around, watching without expression as the gust of wind blew all the tinsel Ray had painstakingly replaced on the tiny Christmas tree back onto the floor. He looked at it a moment, his mouth twisting cynically. "And God bless us everyone," he muttered, pushing away from the door and leaving the silvery tinsel scattered under the tree.

As he passed through the living room, he caught sight of his neatly-bound paper on near-death experiences laying on one of the end tables where he had put it for Egon. Spengler had forgotten to pick it up when he left. Peter felt a pang of disappointment at the oversight; he had been proud of the work he had done on that paper and he had been looking forward to his friend's comments--and his praise. Egon didn't give praise lightly, so when he did you knew you'd earned it. Spengler valued not only his own intellect, but the intellect of others, as well. As they continued to nurture and explore their growing friendship, Peter was surprised to discover he valued Egon's brilliant mind, too, as much as he did his easy companionship, wicked sense of humor, and quiet understanding.

A small part of his mind, judging Egon by others who had passed through his life, whispered, _He didn't really want to read it, you know. He was just being polite. If he had really been interested, he wouldn't have 'forgotten' it._ But Peter impatiently shook that thought off. One of the first things he had learned about Egon Spengler was that the blond man was scrupulously honest in all his dealings. They had spent more than a few evenings discussing near-death experiences while Peter was writing his paper, and his innate ability to see through pretense of any sort convinced him Egon's interest was genuine and completely sincere. If Egon left the paper behind, it was only because he had his mind on getting to the airport on time. Nothing more.

Feeling strangely relieved that he had quieted that niggling voice, he gathered up the paper and carried it back upstairs to his room; he had discovered the hard way any papers laying around suffered the fate of being used as napkins or coasters

His stomach reminded him breakfast had been a long time ago and he headed back downstairs to the kitchen, hoping his frat brothers had left enough behind to see him through the next week. The number of required text books this term had been unusually high, and even buying used ones had cut seriously into his already-tight budget. His part-time job barely covered the necessities as it was; if he had to restock the refrigerator from scratch it would probably use up what little he had saved toward next term's expenses.

Opening the refrigerator, he saw with relief there was enough food left to see him through the next few days and his largest purchases would probably be milk and some eggs. As his eyes skimmed over the cold pizza and take-out cartons of Chinese food, that little voice in his mind reminded him if he'd gone with Ray, he could be sitting down to a real home-cooked meal tomorrow. Or if he'd taken Egon's offer to join him over the holidays, he would have been similarly fed for a week. Grabbing two cartons of Chinese food at random, he nudged the door shut with his elbow, his lips pressed together in a stubborn line. If he'd gone with either of his friends, he would have felt like a charity case. And Peter Venkman was nobody's charity case.

Sitting the cartons on the table, he turned to retrieve the silverware, but stopped, sniffing the air. He had smelled that odor earlier when he'd made the cocoa and coffee, but it was stronger now. His eyes fell on the overflowing garbage can and he grimaced. Whoever's turn it had been to take out the trash this morning obviously had other things on his mind. There were all manner of food-covered items sticking out of the top of the plastic liner and the smell seemed to be getting ranker with each passing second. With a snort of disgust, he abandoned his lunch and walked over to the garbage, wrinkling his nose as he struggled to stuff everything in far enough to twist the bag closed. That finally accomplished, he headed out the back door for the short jaunt to the trash can.

He hadn't bothered with a coat and the cold bit through his shirt as he stepped off the porch to the cement stairs leading to the short walkway which had been shoveled clear of snow. His foot was on the last step when he suddenly realized his heel had come down on a patch of ice. With a yell he felt his leg shoot out from under him and the garbage bag flew out of his hands as he tumbled backwards. There was an explosion of pain in the back of his head, and then oblivion.

 

Egon was half-way to Ray's dorm when he remembered Peter's paper. "Nuts," he muttered in annoyance.

"What's wrong?" asked Ray.

"I forgot that paper I'd asked Peter for. He brought it down for me but I forgot to pick it up when I left." Spengler glanced at his watch, quickly computing the time it would take to return to the frat house. He knew how hard Peter had worked on that paper and how proud he was of it, and he remembered how his friend's face had lit up with pride when he had asked to read it. If this had happened on any other day of the year Peter would probably just shrug and wait for him to ask for it again…and then tease him unmercifully about his absent-mindedness. But today Peter had been uncharacteristically subdued and even a little depressed, and Egon had a feeling that melancholy mood was going to last as long as the holiday season itself. To someone else this incident might seem like a very small thing, but to Egon it was suddenly very important that he go back for that paper.

As if reading his mind, Ray asked, "Will you have time?"

Glancing at the younger man and seeing the understanding in his eyes, Egon nodded. Taking the next right, he circled back and headed to Peter's frat house.

 

Ray was the first one inside the door. "Peter! Peter, it's us!"

Egon stepped inside the doorway to join him, expecting to see Peter bounding down the stairs in response to Ray's voice.

"Do you think he went back out?"

Spengler nodded at Venkman's jacket, still draped over the back of the chair. "Not without his coat." He looked around, shivering in his coat at the coolness in the room. It hadn't been this cold when they were here only a short time ago. "You'd better check upstairs, Ray. I'll look around down here."

The auburn-haired man nodded and quickly climbed the stairs. Egon began walking through the chilly downstairs, then stopped abruptly when he felt the cold breeze coming from the kitchen. "What on earth?" he murmured and immediately went to investigate. As soon as he entered the kitchen he saw the reason for the draft: the outside door had been left wide open and a stiff, cold breeze was blowing unimpeded through the opening. Frowning, he crossed the room and stepped outside, wondering what would have possessed Peter to leave the door open like that. He heard the soft moan at the same instant he spotted the crumpled form of Peter Venkman at the bottom of the steps. Yelling over his shoulder, "Ray, down here! Hurry!" he quickly navigated the icy steps and dropped down beside his fallen friend.

Peter was stirring sluggishly and although his eyes were open, Egon saw immediately he wasn't yet fully aware of his surroundings. He laid a hand on the younger man's chest and gently but firmly kept him flat when he struggled to push himself up. "Easy, Peter. Don't try to move around just yet."

The younger man squinted up at him and Egon could see the pain in his green eyes. "Egon?" Venkman's voice was a little slurred and he sounded drowsy. "Wha' happened?"

Spengler glanced at the ice on the bottom step and retorted, "I surmise you slipped on some ice and hit your head." He frowned as he touched Peter's cold skin. "You must have been unconscious for some time out here." Quickly slipping out of his coat, he covered the younger man's chest, securely tucking the heavy coat around him.

"Egon, what--" Ray's voice broke off into a cry of alarm as he burst out of the house and saw the tableau at the bottom of the stairs. "Oh my gosh, Peter--"

"Careful of those steps, Raymond," Egon warned quickly when Stantz heedlessly bounded down two at a time. "They're icy."

The auburn-haired man dropped down beside them, his eyes huge with worry. "Is he okay?"

"He may have a concussion," Egon murmured, carefully easing his hand under the brown head and wincing at the knot he felt there. "He was unconscious for at least several minutes. You'd better call an ambulance."

"No!" Venkman struggled against the hand holding him flat. "No ambulance. 'm okay."

"You are most certainly not okay, Peter," the blond man retorted, worry sharpening his tone. "And don't try to move around too fast--"

But Peter had managed to push himself up despite Egon's resistance, and although his face was deathly pale, he lifted his chin in stubborn triumph. "See, I told you--" Suddenly a strange look crossed his pallid features and he groaned, "Oh, shit." Quickly twisting away, he doubled over and unceremoniously lost the contents of his stomach.

Egon quickly pressed his hand against the distressed man's forehead to offer support and saw Ray brace him with an arm under his chest to help keep him off the snow-covered ground. After his heaving stomach finally subsided, they felt him sag in exhaustion and carefully eased him back over, Egon pulling him back to rest against his chest. "I told you not to move too quickly," he chided gently as Ray wiped the brown-haired man's face with his handkerchief. The fact that Peter didn't protest Ray's ministrations was a silent testament to how ill he must have felt.

"Yes, Doctor Kildare," Venkman mumbled weakly.

Stantz was on his knees in front of Peter and peered worriedly into his wan face. "Peter, you've got to go to a hospital," he said urgently. "You're really hurt."

"No ambulance," Venkman repeated stubbornly.

Ray looked up at Egon, a question in his eyes. Spengler weighed their options for a moment, then held two fingers up in front of Peter's face. "Peter, how many fingers am I holding up?"

Venkman squinted at the fingers for a moment before retorting, "Seven." At Egon's stern look, he swatted the hand away. "I'm not seeing double, and I don't feel like I'm gonna pass out again. I've got a headache and I feel a little sick to my stomach, but that's all."

Spengler was silent for a moment, considering Peter's symptoms, then nodded reluctantly. "We'll take you ourselves," he said finally. He wasn't happy with that alternative, but he knew Peter well enough to realize they'd probably be doing more harm than good if they tried to force a struggling Venkman into an ambulance. He knew enough about head injuries to recognize they needed to keep him quiet and calm, and Peter would be neither of those things if they called an ambulance. "But you _are_ going to the hospital, Peter. No arguments."

"'kay," the brown-haired man agreed wearily, pain flickering across his face. "Just don't yell, all right?"

"Sorry," Egon apologized, softening his voice. "Ray, I'm going to move him enough for you to get that coat around him. He's already chilled; we don't want him to lose any more body heat."

Between them, he and Ray managed to work Venkman's arms through the sleeves of Egon's coat and Egon supported him while Ray quickly buttoned it up to his chin.

Egon shifted behind Peter, gripping him firmly under the arms. "All right, Peter, we're going to take this very slow and very easy. Just relax and let us do all the work."

"No problem," Peter mumbled. "I like it when other people do all the work."

Slowly, carefully, Egon pulled Peter to his feet, with Ray adding support. Peter had to take several quick, deep breaths once they got him upright and Egon tightened his grip, certain he was going to pass out again. But the younger man stiffened his legs and straightened his back, assuring them breathlessly, "I'm okay."

Egon exchanged a look with Ray, but said nothing. As they started to guide him toward the car, each of them maintaining a firm grasp on an arm, Peter looked down and saw that only the tips of his fingers were showing out of the long sleeves of Egon's coat. "Hey, my arms shrunk," he protested groggily.

"That's right, Peter," Egon replied patiently, "but we'll get that taken care of at the hospital."

Peter stared at his fingers a moment longer, his eyes dazed, then nodded his acquiescence. "Okay," he agreed and allowed himself to be taken to the car.

 

Egon wasn't normally a pacer, but he paced now, walking aimlessly around the small waiting room, his mind replaying the events of the last hour. At times during the drive to the hospital Peter had seemed perfectly fine--lucid, aware, even making bad jokes about his fall on the ice. But there were other times when he seemed bewildered and confused, as when he suddenly asked Egon where they were going, and rambled on about being late for football practice. For the most part Ray kept Peter calm and quiet in the back seat, but he and Egon traded more than a few worried glances in the rear view mirror on the way to the hospital.

"Egon?"

Spengler blinked, pulling himself out of his reverie as Ray touched his arm. "Yes, Ray?"

The engineering student looked at his watch, his expression almost apologetic. "If you don't hurry, you're going to miss your flight. But don't worry," he added hurriedly, "I'll stay with Peter. I can even call you to let you know what the doctor said."

The blond man smiled at the offer, but shook his head. "I can't leave without knowing Peter's going to be all right."

"But your plane--"

"There will be other planes," he said calmly.

"Not on Christmas Eve."

Spengler acknowledged that with a nod of his head. "Probably not. But I can't leave until I'm sure Peter is okay."

Ray shifted uneasily on his feet, his body tense with anxiety. "You do think he's going to be okay, don't you? I mean, he seemed fine for a while, but other times, it was like he didn't know where he was or what happened or--"

"I know," Egon broke in gently, patting the younger man on the shoulder and adopting a reassuring tone, "but he's in very good hands now."

Ray's brown eyes locked with Egon's and he said in a very quiet voice, "If you hadn't forgotten that paper and gone back when you did, who knows how long Peter might have laid out there. Nobody was around; there wouldn't have been anyone to help him." The younger man shuddered suddenly and fell silent, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Egon felt a shiver race through his own body as that same scenario played through his mind. It was true Peter was already coming around when they got there, but could the injured man have made it back into the house on his own? Or would he have passed out before reaching shelter and lay out there in the cold snow, risking even further damage? If Peter _had_ made it to the house, could he--or _would_ he--have called for medical help? Or would he have collapsed and, alone and unattended, perhaps sunk into a coma… Spengler gave his head a sharp shake. That kind of thinking was counter-productive. He and Ray _had_ been there and they _had_ gotten him to the hospital. Peter was safe and warm and being attended to by experts, not injured and alone lying out in the cold.

"Excuse me."

Both men turned to find the ER doctor standing in the doorway, clipboard in his hand. He was tall and rangy, with a thick head of brown hair and a nose a bit too pronounced for him to be called handsome, and he had the look of a man who had had too little sleep. But he had been polite and reassuring when he had taken charge of Peter in the emergency room and whisked him off for X-rays.

"I'm Dr. Panetta," he said by way of introduction. "You two brought Peter in, right?"

"I'm Egon Spengler, this is Ray Stantz," Egon said quickly. "Is Peter all right?"

"He's got a mild concussion. That's not serious, but it's nothing to be taken lightly, either. There are complications that can occur even with a mild head injury." He glanced at his chart. "Ordinarily, I'd release him to the care of his family, but Peter tells me he has no family in this area and apparently there isn't anyone else. So I'm going to keep him here for twenty-four hours observation."

"You mean he'll be in the hospital over Christmas?" Ray asked in dismay. "That's awful!"

"Believe me, I don't like keeping anyone in the hospital like this, especially over Christmas, but I can't release him if he doesn't have anyone to stay with him. He can't be left alone."

"But you _would_ release him if he had someone to stay with him," Egon pressed.

Panetta nodded. "Anyone could do what we're going to be doing here, which is wake him every couple of hours and ask him some questions to make sure he's lucid, check his pulse, his pupils, and be nearby when he moves around to make sure he doesn't get dizzy and fall again." The corners of his mouth rose slightly. "Anyone, that is, who doesn't mind losing a night's sleep."

Egon nodded, his decision made. "I don't mind losing a night's sleep. If you'll tell me exactly what symptoms to look for, Doctor, I'm sure I can handle it. Peter can stay with me."

Ray's eyes flew to Spengler's face. Although there was relief in the younger man's eyes that Peter wasn't going to be spending Christmas in the hospital, there was also sympathy. "But your mom--"

"Mother will understand," Egon told him, knowing that was true. She would be disappointed he wouldn't be there for Christmas, of course, but he knew she would agree with his decision in an instant. "Now, Doctor," he said briskly, "tell me what I need to do."

 

"You didn't have to do this, you know."

Egon stifled a sigh as he unlocked the door to his apartment and guided Peter inside, keeping one hand lightly braced against the younger man's back. For all Peter's protests about how fine he was feeling, he was unsteady enough on his feet to prompt Egon to keep a supporting hand on him at all times. In the other hand he carried Peter's beat-up gym bag with a change of clothes. They had both insisted Ray go to his aunt's as planned ("No point in your Christmas being ruined, too," Peter had muttered.) and on the way had stopped by the frat house for Ray to pack some clothes for Peter. "We've been through all this, Peter," Egon said patiently. "Several times in fact." Leading Venkman over to the sofa, he gently pushed him down. "Just rest here while I change the linen on the bed."

"I'm not sleeping in your bed," Peter protested. "I can sleep right here."

"The bedroom is closer to the bathroom and you'll be able to rest better in a bed," Spengler called over his shoulder, moving into the bedroom. When he emerged a few minutes later, the brown-haired man was sitting in the corner of the sofa, his expression strangely troubled as he stared at the floor. Egon walked over to him immediately, bending down, "Peter, are you all right?"

Venkman looked at him, his green eyes more serious than Egon had ever seen them. "You shouldn't do this to your mom, Egon," he said in a tone that was almost accusing. "She was counting on you coming home for Christmas. You shouldn't disappoint her like this."

Egon smiled fondly, remembering his mother's voice over the phone when he had called from the hospital to tell her about his change in plans. _"Of course I'm disappointed you won't be here for Christmas, but I'd be a lot more disappointed--in you--if you had walked out on a friend who needed your help. Give Peter my love and make sure he gets plenty of rest. I'll call you tomorrow, sweetheart. I love you."_ There was a pause and she added softly, _"I'm proud of you, Spookums."_

"Mother understood," he replied. "She plans on flying out herself in a few days--be warned, by the way; she's determined there must be a Spengler family remedy for head injuries--and we'll celebrate then."

"But you're gonna miss Christmas."

"I won't be missing Christmas at all," Spengler said mildly, taking Peter's arm and helping him to his feet. "I'll simply be spending it here--with you."

The younger man shot him a quick look, but just as quickly averted his head and said nothing. Egon helped him into the bedroom where he had laid Peter's pajamas out on the bed. Venkman sat down on the edge of the mattress and looked at the pajamas, then at Egon, exasperation in his tone, "This part I can handle myself."

Spengler grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that. But let me get your shoes." He knelt down, and when Venkman started to squawk, gave him a frown over the top of his glasses. "You don't want to bend over, Peter," he pointed out. At that reminder, Peter closed his mouth and allowed the blond man to remove his sneakers. That accomplished, Egon stood. "The doctor said your could eat some light food if you thought your stomach could tolerate it."

Venkman looked a little queasy at the mention of food. "I'm not really hungry."

"Perhaps some tea then? Something hot in your stomach might help."

"My mom always gave me Coke when I was sick," Peter said a little wistfully, then looked embarrassed as if that admission had slipped out involuntarily and mumbled, "Tea's fine."

Egon turned away before Peter could see the smile on his face. "I'll see what I can do."

 

When he returned Peter was in his pajamas, had both pillows stacked under the back of his head and was staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression on his face. "I had some Coke after all," Egon announced, placing the glass on the beside stand within easy reach.

As he watched, a pleased little smile touched Peter's lips. "Thanks." Then Venkman's eyes raised and locked with his. "Why'd you come back to the frat house anyway?" he asked suddenly.

Carefully removing the mold experiment he'd been keeping on the rickety wooden chair in the corner, Spengler pulled the chair over to the bed and sat down. "I came back for your paper. I was nearly to Ray's dormitory before I remembered it."

Surprise and delight flashed in Venkman's eyes. "You came back for the paper?" Egon nodded. Peter looked at him a moment longer, then sank a little deeper into the pillows. "Wow," he breathed. "If it hadn't been for that…" Licking his lips, he said seriously, "I owe you, Egon. If it hadn't been for you, I'd probably still be lying out there in the snow. Thanks."

"You're entirely welcome, Peter. I'm just grateful Ray and I returned in time."

"I owe you for…all this, too. I really didn't want to stay in that hospital."

"Nor would I. Especially over Christmas."

The brown-haired man shrugged. "Christmas is no big deal to me," he said, a little too quickly. "I'm just sorry you're missing yours."

"I'm not missing it one bit. It will still be here tomorrow and I plan to celebrate it." Egon stood, pushing the chair back into its place. "Ray's aunt is dropping him off after Christmas Eve services and he's going to spend the night. Between the two of us, we're going to be waking you every couple of hours to make sure you're all right."

"What a great way to spend Christmas Eve," Venkman muttered.

Spengler ignored that as he lowered the window shade to block out the light of the street lamp outside. "But right now the doctor said you're to rest. If you need anything, I'll be right outside."

As Egon passed the bed, Peter reached out and plucked his sleeve. "Thanks again," he said in a quiet voice, then almost defensively he added, "You didn't have to, you know."

Egon regarded him for a moment, the light from the living room providing enough light for him to make out the guarded expression on his friend's face and the unvoiced question in his eyes: _Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you giving up your Christmas and a chance to be with your family to babysit me?_ Egon wondered what in Peter's past had made him so wary of peoples' motives. And not for the first time he wondered what--or who--in Peter's life had forced him to erect such formidable shields against the world in general. He had hoped they had reached a point in their relationship where Peter felt those defenses were no longer necessary with him. That unspoken question demanded a direct answer, and that was what Egon gave in a level voice, his eyes locked with Peter's: "You're my friend, Peter, and I'm yours. I could no more have walked away from you in that situation than you could if it had been me. And I think you know that. It's true I didn't have to bring you here. But I _wanted_ to. And I suppose you'll just have to learn to deal with that." Leaning over, he gave Peter's exposed arm a quick pat. "Now get some sleep," he said briskly, and strode from the room before an obviously stunned Venkman could reply to his little speech. "I don't think you're going to enjoy our visits very much tonight."

 

Peter woke, slowly, to the smell of coffee. As he lay squinting in the dim light at the unfamiliar surroundings, he tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The insistent pounding in his temples made his first thought, _hangover_. But the sound of familiar, muted voices beyond the closed bedroom door brought it all back in a rush.

Rubbing at the splinters of pain behind his eyes, he turned his head to discover a full glass of Coke on the night stand and remembered Egon bringing in fresh glasses periodically during the night. There were a _lot_ of visits during the night, he remembered ruefully, from both Ray and Egon as they took turns waking him from a sound sleep to check his responses to the questions the doctor had instructed them to ask. With a grunt, he carefully eased himself up into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He'd have to thank them for that; if it hadn't been for them he would have spent the night in the hospital. In fact, if it hadn't been for them… A shiver ran through his body as he thought about lying out in the snow, unconscious and undiscovered. _And all because Egon came back for that paper I wrote._ As he started to push himself to his feet, another thought pressed him back suddenly: _No, all because of friendship. Egon wouldn't have risked missing his flight to come back for that paper if he hadn't been your friend. Anyone else would have let it go until after the holidays._ Another shiver raced though his body, but this time it had nothing to do with chilling thoughts of what-might-have-been. Carefully, he got to his feet and made his way to the bathroom.

 

"Peter! How're you feeling?"

Egon looked around at Ray's eager question, smiling in relief as Peter walked into the room. He'd heard the shower earlier and had kept his ears peeled for the sound of any bumps or thuds, not entirely certain his friend was up to attempting a shower. But although he was still a little pale and showed definite signs of pain around his eyes, Peter looked steady enough on his feet.

"You mean apart from this headache?" Venkman asked, sinking down onto the sofa. "Hungry."

"That's a good sign," Egon replied and walked over to offer a cup of coffee.

The brown-haired man accepted it with a murmured, "Thanks." After the first sip, he sighed. "Much better." He drained the rest of the cup before surfacing again, then looked at the other two, something like chagrin flickering across his face. "I should be making you guys coffee; I think I got more sleep than you did last night."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad," Ray said cheerfully, rolling up his sleeping bag. "Egon and I took turns." Brown eyes twinkling mischievously, he added, "And you didn't start getting really cranky until the last couple of times."

At that Peter's eyebrows rose. "Cranky?"

"Perhaps cranky isn't quite the word," Egon rumbled, smothering a smile at the look of indignation on the psych major's face. "More like…irascible."

"Testy," Stantz offered.

"Peevish," Egon proposed.

"Grouchy--"

"Okay, okay," Peter winced, holding up one hand, "I get the message. I wasn't at my usual shining best." He lowered his eyes and drew a deep breath. "Sorry if I gave you guys a hard time. I really do appreciate--"

"Come on, Peter, we were just teasing." Ray dropped down beside Venkman on the sofa and slid his arm around the older man's shoulders. "We're just glad you're all right. You really had us worried."

Venkman ducked his head as if embarrassed by this open profession, but when he looked back up he flashed Ray a smile and clapped him on the knee. "Thanks to you two guys, I'm fine."

Stantz beamed at that and Peter caught Egon's eye as Spengler nodded his understanding. Ray usually said whatever was on his mind without feeling any need to censor his emotions, and Egon knew Peter was still getting used to that. While Venkman was apt to shoot off his mouth about any number of things, he was much more careful when it came to exposing his feelings. Having someone pronounce their concern so frankly was a little unnerving to him.

Peter frowned slightly as he seemed to notice the table in the center of the living room for the first time. Egon and Ray had moved Egon's small kitchen table there, then added a card table Ray had brought back from his aunt's. With the two tables pushed together and covered with a linen tablecloth, also borrowed from Aunt Lois, it looked like a good-sized dining room table. Five place settings had been set with the dishes and silverware Egon's mother had provided when Egon moved to New York. From a twenty-four hour supermarket Ray had picked up some paper napkins decorated with poinsettias, and a tiny holiday centerpiece with fake holly and a plastic snowman. While it was a far cry from the table Egon's mother would set for Christmas dinner, it looked quite festive.

"You expecting company?" Peter asked quietly, indicating the table.

Ray's face lit with excitement. "We're having Christmas dinner here, Peter. Egon's going to let me borrow his car and I'm going to bring Aunt Lois and Katie here. When Aunt Lois heard what happened to you and that Egon wasn't going back home for Christmas, she wanted us all to go there. But Egon and I thought it might be best if we stayed here in case you got tired and wanted to rest. So Aunt Lois said she'd just bring the whole meal here to us. She always makes more food that we can eat anyhow." Finally out of breath, Stantz beamed, finishing, "So we're going to be able to have Christmas together after all. Isn't that great?"

Peter studied Ray's cheerful face for a long moment before looking back down into his empty cup. "Yeah, Ray, that's great," he replied with a marked lack of enthusiasm. He cleared his throat. "Look, I'm feeling a little tired, so maybe I should just go back to the frat house. I don't want to ruin your party--"

"No!" Ray's face dropped in dismay. "Peter, you can't go back there. You'd be all alone."

Venkman tried to wave that off. "I feel fine now, except for this headache."

"But it's _Christmas_."

Egon saw Peter's knuckles whiten as his hands clenched his coffee cup and quickly sat down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. "Peter," he said quietly, "if you're feeling unwell, we can call Ray's Aunt Lois and explain you're not up to it. Ray can still go to her place and spend the day with her"--Ray opened his mouth to protest but Egon silenced him with a warning look--"and you can stay here and rest." Pausing, he raised his index finger, his voice taking on a firm note. "The one thing you will not be doing, however, is going back to the frat house. Dr. Panetta said you only needed to be monitored through last night, but he advised you shouldn't be left alone for at least forty-eight hours. So regardless of where Ray and his aunt spend Christmas, you will be here spending it with me."

As Egon spoke, he saw a number of changing emotions flicker across Peter's face: gratitude, annoyance, surprise, and finally, rueful resignation. When Egon finished, Peter looked first at Ray, then Spengler, and then sagged back into the sofa, rubbing his forehead. "I didn't mean to sound so ungrateful, Ray. It's really swell of your aunt to bring Christmas dinner over here. I'm sure she'd rather be spending today at home with you and your cousin."

A soft smile creased Ray's face, making him look even younger and he tightened his arm around the other man's shoulders. "It doesn't matter where you spend Christmas, Peter," he said gently, "as long as you spend it with people you love."

The brown-haired man's breath caught and he quickly bit his lip. Watching his face, Egon leaned forward. "Peter? Are you--"

Venkman stopped him with a strained smile. "Nothing a few aspirin won't cure."

Locking his gaze with Peter's, Egon knew he was lying, but acknowledged the silent plea in his eyes and obligingly got to his feet and retrieved the empty cup from the younger man's hand. "I'll get you some. Ray, what time do you need to leave for your aunt's?" he called over his shoulder as he poured Peter another cup of coffee.

The engineering student glanced at his watch. "I guess I'd better leave now. It's going to take some time to get there and back and she might need some help getting things ready." Before getting to his feet, Ray wrapped both arms around the man by his side and gave him a hug. "I'm so glad you're okay," he whispered. "Merry Christmas, Peter."

After only a heartbeat's hesitation Peter returned the embrace, tightening his arms to give the younger man a hard squeeze. His voice a little hoarse, he said, "Thanks for everything, Ray."

If Ray missed the expected _Merry Christmas_ in return, he said nothing about it. He simply gave Peter a smile that lit up his whole face, promised to return by noon with a Christmas meal beyond their wildest dreams, and left, whistling Jingle Bells.

In the silence that followed his departure, Egon returned to his perch on the coffee table and handed Peter his refilled cup and two aspirin. Peter accepted them with mumbled thanks.

Spengler waited until he had taken both aspirin before saying quietly, "This dinner means a great deal to Ray. Thank you."

Peter looked up to meet his steady gaze. "And I guess you're wondering why I'm being such a jerk about Christmas."

There was an edge of challenge in his tone, and Egon hesitated a moment before answering carefully, "The holiday season can be a difficult time for some people--"

Venkman's sharp bark of laughter interrupted him. "Yeah, and I guess I'm one of those people." Egon said nothing, he simply watched Peter and waited for him to make the next move. Wincing slightly in reaction to the headache that was raging behind his eyes, Peter said a little tightly, "Look, I just don't have a lot of good memories of Christmases past, okay?"

Spengler sat forward slightly, tapping Peter's knee until the younger man met his eyes. "But perhaps next year," he said solemnly, "you won't be able to say that."

At first the younger man looked puzzled by the suggestion, then Egon's meaning sank in and some of the tension drained from Peter's face as a reluctant grin touched his lips. "Yeah," he agreed, "maybe so. And if so," he continued, his gaze still locked with Egon's, "then I've got nobody to blame but you and Ray."

Egon felt a little spark inside himself ignite as he recognized Peter's statement for what it was: a chance. That was all he had ever really asked of Peter, but he had learned along the way just how hard it was for the younger man to offer the trust that went with it. It was true he couldn't do anything about Christmases past, but he could certainly do something about Christmas present--and with any luck, with Christmases future, too. Gazing into green eyes that held a mixture of amusement and wariness as Peter waited for his reaction, Egon felt a smile blossom on his face. A moment later, Peter's hesitant smile warmed as well.

_I'd be most happy to accept the blame._

  
  



End file.
